


Wrona

by FrostedAngelInTheSky



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, STRQ - Freeform, Sass, Young Qrow, Young winter schnee, childish romance, lil baby weiss, nothing squicky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-17 09:32:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10591236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostedAngelInTheSky/pseuds/FrostedAngelInTheSky
Summary: On his first solo mission as a hunstman, Qrow Branwen runs afoul of a flock of nevermore.  Alone and wounded in the frigid wasteland of Solitas he is taken in by an unlikely ally.





	1. Snow and Feather

The world turned around him, spinning faster as he tumbled from the sky, talons locked into the dark flesh of the nevermore. The creature did its best to break his hold, tearing bright red streaks into him with its beak and claws but it was too late.

 

He had pulled this move a hundred times. Mechanically it was a fairly simple maneuver: he would dive in over its back, sending them both hurtling to the ground and only at the last moment would he throw out his wings and release his prey to mercy of the jagged rocks below. It had its risks of course, but it was efficient and a little flashy which suited him just fine.

 

He cawed triumphantly as he caught the wind, his wingtips brushing against the snow. Gaining height again he surveyed the smear black blood and feathers that was quickly evaporating into the frozen air. As useful as his avian form was for evading the more earthbound Grimm there was always the stray flock of nevermore to deal with. A real crow might have been taken down by the soulless bastard but this had been child's play for a huntsman such as himself, even though that title had been his for so very short a time.

 

Too late, he heard the beat of wings behind him. In desperation he tried to turn to face the monster but before he could so much as flap his breath was knocked out of him as the larger bird came crashing down.

 

The earth rushed up to meet them, then the world became pain. Pain and cold and fear. Crimson and black blood sprayed out over the virgin snow. He tried to right himself, forgetting in his panic that he was not human, he pushed away with arms that bore feathers instead of hands. Screaming, he collapsed as broken wings snapped and bent in unnatural ways.

 

Suddenly there was a weight on his chest and the second nevermore loomed above him its beak dripping with his blood. He struggled against it but its grip was too powerful.

 

 _This is it._ he thought wryly, _This is the end of Qrow Fucking Branwen. Taken out by a gods-damn nevermore no bigger than a-_

 

A sharp cry interrupted his thoughts and halted the Nevermore's strike. It turned to look and then (later he would swear by every god living or dead that this was really how it happened) the Grimm exploded in a puff of snow.

 

A second snowball (he really did swear) flew past the creature but its attention was caught. Seizing his opening, Qrow lunged for the Nevermore's throat but received only a razor swipe of its talons for the trouble. The world spun again from the blow and he felt the warm trickle of blood soaking into his feathers. Aura surged through him, pushing his body to heal, to fight, to flee, but there was too much damage for it to cover. The snow rushed up to meet him as hazily he prepared for the final blow.

 

It never came. Gloved hands tore the nevermore away and the scuffle moved away from where he was laying. Unable to so much as turn his head, he could only catch the occasional glimpse of snow and a flash of blue or black, but the sound of conflict soon died off. In the corner of his vision a large rock fell to the ground, an inky black steam drifting off of it into the trees. Reflexively, he stiffened at the crunch of snow beside him, but it was gentle hands that scooped him up off of the cold ground and not the sharp beak of the nevermore. Through the haze and the blood he remembered only a pair of eyes the color of the empty sky, peering down at him before his world faded.

 

________________________________________________________

 

The first thing he noticed when he at last was able to open his eyes was that he was still in the form of a crow, which, although a little concerning, at least settled a long standing bet with Taiyang. The second was that he was going to be stuck as a bird for quite some time.

 

He had been tucked with some about of care into a makeshift nest of blankets at the bottom of a large slatted crate. Theoretically the crate was spacious enough for his human form, though it would be a trifle snug, but there was no telling telling what awaited him beyond his new cage. Whoever the blue eyed rescuer was seemed to have a soft spot for birds, he wasn't willing to gamble that compassion would extend to a strange, half dead huntsman appearing in the middle of their house and bleeding all over the carpet.

 

There was something else to consider. Though staying in one form or another was as simple for him as breathing the act of changing required aura and energy, which, judging by the amount of pain he was in- he was pretty damn low on. He had changed while injured before...it wasn't a particularly pleasant process. Though the basic bone structures of humans and corvids had many similarities, damage to one shape did not always translate evenly to the other. A simple break had nearly cost him his life the last time he tried it and he was not eager to repeat the experience.

 

A quick check told him he was in much worse shape this time. His right wing was definitely broken, probably in several places and his left was a mangled mass of feathers that hung away from his body at an odd angle. Deep gashes ran down his sides, exposing raw flesh where they had not been haphazardly bandaged. It was likely he had a fractured some ribs, but luckily (if that was the word for it) he had been spared a punctured lung. Nearly every part of him was bruised and stiff, but in all he guessed it would take a few weeks to heal enough to leave.

 

Content to stay, at least so long as it suited him, Qrow let his attention wander to the rest of the room. Through the slats he could see a large bed with flowing curtains, fancy bits of furniture that probably had names like armoir and vanity (which meant about as much to him as grammar does to a dog), more books than any one person had a right to and a misshapen table that did not appear at all practical. Everything in the room screamed money, but there was a sterility in the atmosphere that made him feel like he had stepped into an advertisement for some extravagant hotel. There was nothing that was not a muted shade of blue, grey or white. Even the blankets enveloping him were a pale blue. If not for the mess of papers and books piled beside his crate, he couldn't imagine a person ever having set foot in this bedroom, let alone living in it.

 

A sound made him turn sharply, sparking new, stronger waves of pain. The image of the nevermore striking out for the kill flashed across his vision and he instinctively tried to bring his arms up to block it.

 

Still a bird, stupid. He groaned as the pain blanked out his vision. It returned slowly, rippling out from the center in bright flecks. He found himself alarmingly close to the same, large eyes from before. After a moment he realized that there was a mouth beneath the eyes and it was saying something.

 

"-Be still. shhhh shhh shhh. I have no intention of hurting you. shhhhhh." the speaker backed away, holding up their hands and he at last got a proper look at his rescuer.

 

The sound that emerged from his beak could not properly be called laughter, it was more a series of harsh, rasping caws that made his sides ache. The person who had saved him from the rending talons of the nevermore, who had fought off the hell-beast in the woods with nothing but a rock and snow, though it was twice his size was not, as he had assumed before, some traveling huntsman or brave woodcutter but a blushing, white haired girl.

 

 _She certainly kept to the theme_ , he thought wryly as the laughter faded into hacking coughs, _do they make colors in Atlas that don't freeze you to the bone just by looking at them?_

  
In a tailored white blouse that was gathered at her wrists and large, fluffy blue skirt that flared out from her waist, she looked more like a doll than a real child. She had long, side swept bangs and at some point her hair had been gathered up into a neat bun but it had slipped off to one side, allowing a single long white curl to fall in front of her ear. He was rubbish at guessing kids ages, but he'd place her somewhere in that awkward stage between childhood and puberty. She was beautiful- or would be, he guessed, once she had finished growing- the symmetry of her features was marred only by a pair of long red scratches that curved down her cheek. A parting gift from his souless friend, no doubt.

 

_What the hell was a pipsqueak like you doing in the middle of a Grimm infested forest anyway?_

 

He must have made some sound, because the girl curtsied and addressed him.

 

"Greetings, Bird. I apologize for not introducing myself earlier. My name is Winter Sch...My name is Winter. It is a pleasure to meet you."

 

_Oooohhhkaaaay. You're talking to a bird. You obviously have a few screws loose so if you just remove the lid, I'll just hop on out of here and be out of your way._

 

She seemed to take his unintelligible series of squawks and caws as returning her greeting, because she took a seat at the desk and rested her head on her hands so she was just level with him.

 

"I am afraid madam that I do not speak bird and, as it would be rude of me to continue calling you 'Bird' I would take the liberty of naming you."

 

_I honestly can not tell if you are serious or have the weirdest sense of humor I have ever encountered in this- hey! hold up! Did you just call me 'Madam'? Oh hell, no. You had a 50/50 shot kid. 50/50 and you blew it._

 

"What do you think of "Mrs. Featherbottom?"

 

_I could have died of hypothermia. Nice and peacefull. Like going to sleep._

 

"You're quite right madam: It's too on the nose and it's not even a color." she paused for a moment, dramatically tapping her lips with pencil. "I also have no way of telling if you are a married bird or not."

 

_Or blood loss. Probably would have passed out first. Never felt a thing._

 

She flipped through one of her books, holding it close to her face as she searched. After a moment she cried out and looked to him truphantly.

 

"What do you think of Lady Ciardha? She is one of my favorite characters from Grainne. It means 'Dark' which fits you, don't you think?"

 

If he wasn't so sure he was about to pass out again, Qrow wold have flown straight for the door, broken wings or no.


	2. Chapter 2: A Silver Cage

When he woke again the broken moon was shining through the windows, casting a pale, ghostly light on his surroundings.  A quick check showed the girl was curled up in the center of the large bed, her white hair reflecting the moon like a mirror.    
  
_What did she call herself? Winter? why are even the names here cold?_  
  
Suppressing a groan of pain he hopped up to the edge of his crate and poked around until he found what he was looking for.  In the very back corner was a small gap, just large enough for him to fit his beak into.  A few experimental nudges, a slight adjustment for weight, and a sharp push later and the lid was open enough for him to jump out with only minimal cursing.  
  
_Now,_ he thought, giving himself a light shake (which he quickly remembered was a terrible idea), _How the hell do I get out of here?_  
  
Years of living on the run with Raven had taught him one thing, you never stay anywhere without an exit strategy.  Since his usual glib "Fly out the window" response obviously wasn’t going to cut it this time,  he needed to find another way out should things go south.  
  
He was good at escapes, better than his sister even, so when he found that there was no way out of the ornate bedroom, he became concerned.  The large glass windows had no hinges to pry apart, no locks to pick and they were made of a dust infused glass that was strong enough to stop a bullet without a scratch.  Heat couldn’t even pass through, which he supposed was a good thing, given how absurdly cold Solitas could get.  There were vents for air and heat to pass through in the walls but they, too, were sealed tight and dust strengthened. A long struggle that involved pushing around a chair and ferrying several books resulted in another failure.  The door to the room locked from the outside.  
  
Desperately trying to push aside thoughts about why a bedroom would be locked from the outside in a place like this, especially the bedroom of a preteen, Qrow drew in a few deep breaths.

  
_Ok. Ok. So you can't sneak out and raid the kitchens whenever you want. No big deal. So this place is built more like a prison than a summer home, I'm sure there is nothing sinister going on at all. what-so-ever.  It's not like anyone knows what you are anyway. To any outsider, you're just a stupid old crow that got its ass kicked. You aren't the one who's a prisoner here._

  
The last thought gave him pause.  As quietly as his sharp talons could move on the tile floor he crept over to the bed and peered up over the edge.  Winter had turned in her sleep, and her arm had fallen over the edge so her fingers just brushed the floor.

  
_Pfffft. What am I thinking? Of course she's not. She's the one who brought me here, from the middle of the friggin' forest. She obviously can come and go as she pleases._ He allowed himself a small chuckle but quickly stifled it as the girl stirred.

  
_Sure, I can move furniture around no problem but one little laugh and suddenly you're a light sleeper._

Since there was no point continuing the search tonight and his body was already loudly protesting so much movement so soon after the fight he returned to his little bed.

_____________________________________________

"What on...What happened here?" 

He raised his head groggily. _Could you keep it down? Some of us didn’t get much sleep last night._

She was standing in the middle of the room, her hands on her head in a picture of confusion that would have been amusing if he were not half asleep. 

"H-how?"

  
_Kid, knock it off._ He popped his head out of the blankets, chattering at her grumpily. _A bird needs his beauty sl- oh. oohhhh._

If a small tornado had come through in the middle of the night, touched down only inside her bedroom and then left without warning, it would have explained the state her room was in.  Books and papers were strewn everywhere, the curtains hung in limp shredded ribbons, somehow her desk chair had been pushed up against the door and there was a small tower of books leading up to it.

Qrow did his best to look innocent, fluffing up his feathers and making the small chirping sound that always made Summer squeal in delight.  It did not have the same effect on his host.

She turned on him, her face reddening "You. Did you do this?"

_Whaaaaat? I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about._

She seemed unable to decide between anger and shock, alternately balling up her fists at her sides and throwing her hands up to her head, the effect of which was that she accomplished neither and instead stood in a bizarre half pose, her hands partially clenched and hovering in the air beside her ears.

He couldn’t contain it anymore. She was just so ridiculous standing there in her thick nightgown, hair still awry from sleep, that absurd curl poking out away from her head in an unnatural angle and her face growing redder by the minute. He laughed until his ribs ached and his breath came in wheezing gasps.

  
"It's not funny." There was a slight whimper in her voice that made him feel a little guilty, but the sight of her still frozen in the same pose brought on a second, more painful wave of laughter.  
  
There was a sound by the door, the metal grind of a key in a lock, that silenced him and drained the color from her face.

"No. NO. Not now!" she whispered hoarsely, flying into action. She dashed around the room grabbing books off of the floor and shoving them under pillows, into drawers and throwing them behind shelves.  

_Hey, relax kid, it's not that big a deal._

The knob turned slowly and the door began to open, only to be stopped by the back of the chair, which was still wedged against it.

"Winter! Winter open this door this instant."

"Coming Ma'am" she cried over her shoulder, hallway through stuffing another book behind the remains of the curtains.  Her eyes fell on him and a fresh wave of panic seemed to flow through her.  
  
_...What’s with that look? HEY! put me down!_   covering the room in a few strides, she had swept up the crate in her arms, jolting his wings painfully.

"Shhhhh. shhhh. Please. You have to be quiet. They will never let me keep you."

_Who the hell is 'They'?_

"Please, Ciarda, Please be quiet." she whispered as she slid the crate under the desk and threw a blanket over it. He could see through it, barely.

"MISS SCHNEE! OPEN THIS DOOR AT ONCE!"

_Schnee? Where have I heard that name?_

With another 'shhh' she ran for the door. The chair scraped loudly against the tile and the door swung open with a bang.

"Good morning, Miss Griselda." She curtsied gracefully despite the fact she was wearing a nightgown.

There was a loud smack as a long rod connected with the back of her head. "How many times have I told you, child, address me as Governess or not at all?" 

Winter winced slightly at the blow but didn’t cry out. "My apologies, Governess."

The old woman sniffed audibly as she surveyed the room. "By the Brothers, what have you done to your chambers? It is an absolute disgrace.  I will have to let the cook know not to prepare breakfast for you as punishment."

Through the cloth he saw winters head bob up out of the curtsy abruptly "But I didn’t get any dinner yesterday!"

The rod cracked over her head this time, leaving a bright pink welt blossoming in her hairline. "Never use 'any' with a singular, countable noun."

"Yes, mis- Governess."

"Now. Go dress yourself and see to that wretched excuse of a bun, before you loose your luncheon as well."

"Yes, Governess."

Winter disappeared from his view, leaving him alone with the governess.  Qrow wasn't really the type to take an instant dislike to a person, however Raven might scoff at that statement, but he felt a growing sense of disgust for the stern woman.  Her steel grey hair was pulled up into an unflattering bun on the top of her head, which only seemed to lengthen her already droopy face.  She had thick, rectangular glasses that swung by a chain from her neck like the carcass of a dead animal.  She might have been pretty once, in her youth, but a lifetime of scowling had been so firmly etched into her features that he was sure a smile would cause the whole thing to splinter and break.

   
She busied herself tidying the room, which here meant throwing away whatever was left on the floor.  He might not have thought anything of it if it had just been the crumpled bits of paper she tossed but books and crisp sheets of drawings and writings (some of which looked like they had taken a great amount of time to complete) also made their way into the dustbin.  When Winter returned, dressed in the same blue skirt and white blouse he had seen her in yesterday, he noticed her eyes narrowing when they spotted the trashcan, but the rest of her face remained carefully neutral.  

"Where have you been getting these dreadful novels? -Oh, don't bother coming up with a lie, child, I can guess the answer well enough.  Hmmph. We will see what Mrs. Schnee has to say about that."

Winters face brightened for the first time since the vile woman had appeared. "Is mother going to be coming to hear me practice today?"

"Why would she do that? She will hear you the same as everyone else at the recital, why should she subject herself to your fumbling and butchery before then."

The sudden drop in the young woman's shoulders was visible, even through the holes in the blanket.  Qrow felt a sudden urge to punch the elderly woman.  
As the hours dragged on, the feeling only grew stronger.  The old hag was a relentless taskmistress, dragging the impossibly meek winter through scale after scale on the strangely shaped table (which was, as he discovered, a much fancier form of piano than what he had been exposed to in the occasional tavern or bar with enough class to own one).   They worked slowly through some piece with a longwinded name, revisiting the same sections over and over again.  To him, it sounded pretty much the same every time winter played, but the old woman was constantly bringing her cane down on her wrists or shoulders. 

"Play faster. go slower. play it with feeling. keep your back straight." on and on she droned, nothing ever seeming right.  There were a lot of other words in there too, but they all ended with -issimos and -tos and a lot of other strange sounding things he had never heard before.  

Finally, with a sharp order to continue practicing for the next few hours, the pucker faced prune at last left.  Winter stayed, dutifully plunking away at the keys until the last echo of footsteps faded, then promptly slammed the piano shut and tugged her hair free.

She landed next to the crate with a plop and pulled the blanket off with a flourish.  She returned him to the desk top, much more gently this time, for which he was grateful, and rested her head on her arm. 

He gestured to the door with his beak _If Governess Grump comes back, won't you be in trouble? I'd rather not end up like those books._

"Don't fret, Ciarda, she's gone off to the gardens to get drunk with mother.  She won't be back today."

For a moment, Qrow thought she had actually heard him, but as she continued he realized she was still pretending.  
  
"That means you and I have the afternoon to ourselves.  What would you like to play?"

 _Play?  Right. That’s what kids your age are supposed to do, isn’t it?_ With the tribe, there had never been much of a chance to "play".  Summer and Taiyang had talked about it though, they had even tried to "give them the childhoods they had missed out on" on occasion.  It usually led to him or Raven standing in the middle of a field, holding onto some sort of ball with a dumbfounded expression.

"I know!" She dashed over to the wardrobe and rummaged around for a moment, emerging with an armful of colorful clothing. "I'll be the huntsman and you can be the fair princess trapped in the tower."

She threw a hand over her heart and bowed deeply, dropping several frilly looking pieces in the process. "I swear, on my oath as a huntsman I will protect you, my lady."

 _You know, I think I'm gonna have to pass on this one.  Maybe next time._  

She held up a conical hat with a long flowing tail. It looked like it had been made for a doll. "Princess, it is not proper for a lady to be seen without her regalia."

 _No. Nope. Not gonna happen kid._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://one-day-i-was-bored.tumblr.com/post/159647011911/happy-easter-everyone-the-second-chapter-of

**Author's Note:**

> https://one-day-i-was-bored.tumblr.com/post/159427190581/first-chapter-of-wrona-is-up-on-ao3-snow-and
> 
> Cover art for this chapter in link.


End file.
